"See the sky about to rain, broken clouds and rain"

"I hear some people been talkin' me down
Bring up my name, pass it 'round
They don't mention happy times
They do their thing, I'll do mine

Ooh baby, that's hard to change
I can't tell them how to feel
Some get stoned, some get strange,
But sooner or later it all gets real

Walk on, walk on,
Walk on, walk on

I remember the good old days,
Stayed up all night gettin' crazed
Then the money was not so good,
But we still did the best we could

Ooh baby, that's hard to change
I can't tell them how to feel
Some get stoned, some get strange,
But sooner or later it all gets real

Walk on, walk on,
Walk on, walk on"

*********************************************

I have the foresight.

*********************************************

Baby, this is gonna be good.

*********************************************

Damn I feel great!

Like having rocks in my guts, it makes me sad, knowing what you're up to.

Astrophysics

For a man, sex is the theory of relativity,
and a vagina is like a black hole,
which consumes his rocket ship and bends
the fabric of time. Afterward, now inside out
on the opposite side of the universe, he says
to himself, “Where did the hour go?”

Time Machine

I recall that your body is a time machine, when I sit
On my bed with the shades drawn, and it would transport me
To when I was younger, thin and green, like a tender sprig.
Your body was like the insides of my eyelids. I would explore
Your depths, like a child in a cave filled with butterflies
Of every color, and I would delight in your darkness.
Sometime around your breasts were my junior and senior proms,
and right about your vagina was the back seat of my first car.

Devil, angel

A girl on my high school debate team once told me she thought I was literally the Devil. A woman I once loved and who, at that time, loved me back told me later that I was, in fact, an angel.









Does that make me a human?

*******************************************

God is a woman that I dream about.

*******************************************

"'Cause I know that the sound of your heart is a god I can trust like a man, not a boy."

Streams

Every other day I fear that I am still in love with you.

****************************************

"Eat a lot, sleep a lot, brush 'em like crazy. Run a lot. Do a lot. Never be lazy, boy."

****************************************

"It's hard to remember to live before you die."

****************************************

"If you always get up late, you're never gonna be on time. And that's a shame. 'Cause I like you. I never see you."

****************************************

On the sea my legs are growing sturdier.

Woe (Scrawled while speeding)

On beautiful blue
my way to see you,
a semi will not let me pass
on the throbbing interstate.

O, Commerce!
You are but a clot in the love artery
of the American highway.

In the shabby shelter, it is dry but dark, and only the children’s teeth are clean.
The roof leaks rain, and the floors are slick with piss.

Teevee Stand Living Room

I am sitting on the living room floor, home to millions of living organisms, me being the only one visible to the naked human eye. The living room is teeming with life, but as for furniture, it contains only a stereo set and an old, orange armchair. I am sitting on the living room floor, home to millions of living organisms, assembling a teevee stand from a box.
It is something like producing a rabbit from a top hat, and just as magically difficult!
The stereo speakers, all six, are standing in formation, staring at me, all singing the same lonesome country song. The subwoofer is a bearded baritone, then there’s a tenor, two beautiful altos, one knockout soprano and another one that’s just so-so. It is like a tragic Greek chorus of the American South, and I am the hero-king, a man in an empty house in New Orleans, his only flaw his feeling of being an outsider.
My neighbors, I can see right into their living room from my living room. They have a pretty Christmas tree, and they have not been home all day. It is Sunday, and they are Sunday people doing Sunday things like going to church, then to a light lunch, and maybe for a walk or a shopping trip.
I was going to be a Sunday person today, I even woke up to go to Mass on my own, a thing I have not done in a long while. I biked down St. Charles, and just as I could see the spire of Christ Church Cathedral pierce the treeline, I blew out my tire on a piece of jagged wood, or a roofing nail, or somesuch. God, I think, was telling me to have church at my house.
I walked my crippled bike back up St. Charles back to my house, carried her inside, and put her to bed. I put on some good gospel and started to assemble this teevee stand. The American tragedy chorus has now become the cast of an opera about a Benedictine monk who builds furniture as his service to God, just like Jesus did before he died. In Act III, Scene ii there is a particularly moving aria, just after the monk realizes he put the doors to the cabinet on backwards.